


and with a heavy burden, I was laid to rest

by Space_Dementia



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Ancestors, Gen, Gift Fic, Prompt Fic, Revenge, Stream of Consciousness, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Dementia/pseuds/Space_Dementia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust me. This darkness<br/>is a place you can enter and be<br/>as safe in as you are anywhere;<br/>you can put one foot in front of the other<br/>and believe the sides of your eyes.<br/>Memorize it. You will know it<br/>again in your own time.<br/>When the appearances of things have left you,<br/>you will still have this darkness.<br/>Something of your own you can carry with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and with a heavy burden, I was laid to rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serene_mania*](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=serene_mania%2A).



Bonnie felt the ghost fingers on her shoulders, ghost of her ancestors, ghost of those who had come and gone before, their whispers. They told her secrets, horrors. They told her what her friends had been up to in her absences. They told her of the blood that had been spilled, the lives that had been lost. They told her it all. And how now she must keep up with her end of the bargain.

The witches would come, sometimes one by one, sometimes in groups. All looking like her, all in the same predicament that she had been, in all with the name of a vampire who had first owned and then discharged them like so much trash.

drained, broken, burned and the ones who sent them there singing them on their way with sounds of glee and songs of forgetfulness and they pick another to replace the one just used.

Bonnie went made with the telling, with the slip of whisper against the curve of her ear. The prayer turning sour in her ear, just as the smell of hidden rotten sweet smelling corpse. Calling out to her “find us, let us rest in a place that we know, don’t let them forget ... they will forget you too and you will end up here next to us (in the cold ground) Finally finding your place with us.”

Sometimes her powers would jerk with the voices when she got close to the places where their bodies had been thrown (unmarked, shallow graves). The feel of their voice, their power, the violence of their falling, nailed to the spot where their flesh fell away.

She felt the flames on her own skin, the fingers pressing and jerking at her, breaking her into death, the slow lull if blood being taken from her ... she felt herself dying slipping into thick, sucking darkness. And in that darkness ... was a freedom. A freedom to do as you pleased. A freedom, to not worry over friends or family, life or death; a freedom, to just be.

It was like a siren’s song. She wanted to go there, to join the others. But not before she sent their senders before her. Like a gift of absolution. Because when they were all reunited (death and the hands that delivered them) there would be retribution of the eternal kind. On the other side the witches would be the monsters, the tormentors, the truth-sayers. Wielding sharp tongues that cut against the skins of their old masters.

Their old masters would bow then. Bonnie felt the smile etching into her skin as the voice of a Salvatore (it didn’t matter which one, they were all the same) demanded another spell from her. There in her eyes grew a strange sort of shimmering as she bowed her head and whispered “Soon”


End file.
